Page 22 of Shockproof

Probably should’ve seen that coming.

Perhaps if my brain weren’t sweating like the rest of me I could’ve.

“Look, protocol-”

“Is such a gross word.” My neon sports bra covered shoulders playfully bounce. “Likethegrossest fucking word.”

“Grosser than petunia?”

Dramatically gagging and shuddering is accompanied by a collection of incomprehensible sounds.

“Yeah…that’s what I thought,” Slater lightly chuckles for the first time in hours.

“Youknowhow much I hate that word.”

“And youknowhow much I hate leavin’ you unprotected.”

“But Iwillbe protected,” I sweetly insist at the same time I sway my frame forward. “There are so many firearms in this penthouse you’d think Liam Neeson used to live here, T has been taking martial arts classes to get ‘in shape’ for the wedding, and while Reynolds may not be inmystarting line – or even someone I would’ve drafted – he’s earned his way into being inyours, which means I can trust him,” sliding my hands around his perspire caked lower half occurs between statements, “becauseyoutrust him.” Slater melts into my hold the instant my fingers fold together on top of his drenched white t-shirt. “You have gotta loosen the gun holster strings a little bit, Cowboy.”

“You know gun holsters don’t have strings.”

“Straps then.”

He fights the urge to grin and tucks a few strands of damp hair behind my ear. “I just…I don’t wanna repeat of today.”

“Which part of today exactly?” my teasing tone threatens to break through the tension symphony surrounding him. “The part where we made a sticky mess in this room or the part where you made a chaos infested mess in my office?”

“The part where some asshole broke into what should’ve been a secure buildin’ and damn near got away with kidnappin’ you.”

Seeing his seriousness seep back to the surface is what stops me from attempting to lighten the situation further. “But hedidn’t. And the next person who tries it – assuming there is a next person – won’t either, Slater. I’m as safe as I can be.”

“Youwill beonce we go over the key moves a few more times.”

“But-”

“I’m not askin’.”

“But-”

“And I’m not arguin’.”

“But-”

“Angel Cake,” both hands lovingly cup my face, “you have no idea how fuckin’ terrified I was that I wouldn’t be there in time today to stopanythingfrom happenin’ to you. And the fact that I can’t be there every minute of every day to protect you from so much as a fuckin’ papercutkills. Me.” His grip sweetly tightens. “But knowin’ I’ve done everything I can to turnyouinto the most powerful weapon you’ll ever need – whether I’m there or not – is the only thing givin’ me any sort of peace of mind right now. So,please,” soft, shaky blue lettering cascades down past my music note sleep shorts, “let me have this?”

Ugh.

Between the sweetness and tint of his timbre, how am I supposed to deny him?

“Fine.” Quietly conceding is attached to stepping back out of his grasp. “If turning me intoTomb Raideris whatyouneed to make yourself feel better about it then so be it.”

“I was thinkin’ more like Foxy Brown.”

“Because she’s brown?”

“Because she’sfoxy.”

Readying myself to a combat stance occurs prior to me good naturedly inquiring, “You telling me you had the hots for classic Pam Grier?”

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